Chapter 914 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 914: Overwrought "Boom——!" An ear-splitting explosion suddenly erupted in the distance, startling Grove and Brother Dog, who stood by the field command post discussing retreat plans. Both of their expressions changed dramatically, and they hurried into the command post to stand by the single available radio. The radioman seated before the equipment had just established contact with the frontline troops. Upon seeing General Grove and Staff Officer Bear Dog enter, he immediately stood and reported swiftly without waiting for General Grove to inquire. "Report! The unit under attack is the Fifth Thousand Troop of the 102nd Ten Thousand Troop! The number of attackers is unknown, but it is estimated to be 1 to 2 armored units!" Brother Dog quickly interjected. "Where is this Fifth Thousand Troop located?!" The radioman promptly responded. "Miljans County!" Hearing this familiar place name, Brother Dog’s palms instantly dampened with sweat. "Dammit... these guys have some skills!" They hit their weak spot from the get-go! A formidable opponent! Simultaneously, General Grove had already moved to the map hanging within the command tent. As he scrutinized the marked lines on the map, his brows gradually knitted into a tight knot. In his entire strategic deployment of the "Northern Wind Operation," Miljans County's position acted as a hub for logistical transit. Though the campaign primarily focused on disrupting the opponent's supply lines, with all units splitting up for forward raids and lacking stable supply routes, the seized supplies couldn't just be buried on-site; they still needed transportation via roads and vehicles. Miljans County was precisely such a place. The supplies captured by the 101st, 102nd, and 103rd Ten Thousand Troops were initially transported there in dispersal, then concentratedly moved to the front line of Snake Prefecture by a limited number of truck units. Originally, the plan was for the retreating 102nd Ten Thousand Troop to assemble north of Miljans County, holding back the legion's reinforcements to buy time for the withdrawal of supplies by the 101st and 103rd Ten Thousand Troops. However, the Southern Legion's march took them by surprise, arriving in Miljans County before the 102nd Ten Thousand Troop could gather! If the region fell, it would be disastrous for the assembling 102nd Ten Thousand Troop. They would evaporate like water on a hot iron, becoming a cloud of white smoke in an instant. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead. General Grove took a deep breath, striving to calm himself. The more critical the situation, the more one must remain composed; losing one's head would mean losing the entire game. The opponent's counterattack was incredibly swift, indicating they were no ordinary force. On the other hand, although he had nine ten-thousand-strong units, they were mostly equipped with light weapons, severely lacking anti-armor and anti-air capabilities. The legion's daring maneuver clearly suggested they had a backup plan. If he were to covet the supplies at Miljans County, pushing all three units in, he might lose not just the spoils already in hand but also endanger his entire force... Going all in or folding both offered chances of victory... But hesitation would certainly lead to failure! At this moment, the typically naive and straightforward old fellow displayed a wolf-like fierceness on his face, making a decision in just two seconds. "Inform the 102nd Ten Thousand Troop, the plan has changed... bypass Miljans County and retreat directly to the Snake Prefecture border as rapidly as possible from enemy strategic depths!" "Take as much of the captured supplies as possible! Bury what can't be taken with you, hide them in nearby villages, or destroy them altogether!" "Yes, sir!" The radioman executed a crisp salute and promptly sat back down at the radio. Having given his orders, General Grove felt his body flush with adrenaline as if his blood was boiling. He retrieved a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one with a match, and took a deep drag to calm his nerves. He convinced himself this was his last cigarette for the month, and there was no better time than now to enjoy a couple of puffs. Based on his earlier deductions, he was almost certain the Southern Legion's reinforcements numbered at least over a hundred thousand! This was precisely their confidence in dispatching light armored units deep into enemy territory! It seemed he had indeed hit them hard; he might even be a candidate for a playing card bounty. Grove was not scared in the slightest; rather, his entire being was electrified with excitement. "At last... it’s about time we stirred things up!" A cold, sharp curve edged his lips as he flicked the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot. These big-nosed foes had better not disappoint him. He had grown moldy from sitting on the cold bench at the border; skirmishes were dull and uninspiring. Zaid had only allowed him to use 30% of their strength against the legion, emphasizing troop training instead, and when orders reached Gopal, even the offensive metrics were halved. In fact, the approval of the "Northern Wind Operation" was thanks to the pressure exerted by the allied brother standing beside him. He understood his superiors' political concerns, anxious about the Southern Legion draining their military strength to the benefit of a covetous Sharukh with nothing tangible to gain. However, focusing only on politics without unity wouldn't save the Boro Nation. Of course, he wouldn't make things hard for his superior, opting instead to create a win-win situation that would break the deadlock. Zaid worried about Sharukh exploiting opportunities? No problem. Since they aspired for proof of their determination to confront the Southern Legion through "Northern Wind Operation," he'd turn fiction into reality, delivering a solid blow to the Southern Legion’s southern Wolf Prefecture deployment, hitting them where it hurt! With the legion now primed for earnest engagement, they would surely push into the Snake Prefecture borders, leaving Sharukh no reason to ignore the fire encroaching his own territory. Then it would be their turn to hold the upper hand! Brother Dog, who was also pondering countermeasures while staring at the map, hadn’t anticipated General Grove making a swift decision. While abandoning Miljans County was indeed an option, it didn’t seem the optimal choice to him. Even if the Fifth Thousand Troop was caught off guard, they could still hold out for an hour or two. If they could assemble the nine other thousand-man units scattered throughout the area, using sheer numbers to wipe out the light armored units wasn’t out of the question. "…Are you planning to abandon Miljans County? I still feel there's a chance." Brother Dog proposed his idea, only to be flatly rejected. "Don’t overthink it, we have no chance. Besides, it's not just Miljans County I'm abandoning—it's the entire logistics relocation plan." Grove gazed absently at the map, cold and methodical like a machine, as he continued. "We must withdraw the frontline units swiftly, prepare defenses along the Snake Prefecture border, and inflict maximum casualties on our enemies! I have a strong premonition that the Southern Legion will soon mobilize their main forces for an unprecedented offensive against us." "This includes bombarding Snake Prefecture's strategic facilities and launching a full-scale armored assault... We’re on the brink of facing an unprecedented situation requiring early preparation." Hearing Grove’s decisive words, Brother Dog instinctively held his breath. If that were truly the case, then his earlier consideration was indeed misguided. Yet, thinking of the young men who called him family, he couldn’t help but voice his concern. "But the Fifth Thousand Troop at Miljans County is already targeted by the Southern Legion's light armor. If we truly leave them to fend for themselves, they won't have the opportunity to retreat—" Without hesitation, Grove declared, "Then they won’t retreat! They'll dig in and fight a defensive battle, holding out as long as possible, to buy time for their comrades." Brother Dog stared blankly at Grove, as though seeing a complete stranger. Was this the same Grove who cherished his soldiers like sons? Wait a minute... He suddenly recalled. This guy often treated him like a brother, holding his words in high esteem, yet never truly listened when crucial decisions were made, not even during the formulation of the entire Northern Wind Operation. Although the entire plan was submitted under his name, with Grove intending to credit him for the "brilliant strategy," reflecting upon it, this guy never truly accepted his suggestions, always speaking in agreement only to act differently. But then again… Perhaps this guy truly knew what he was doing. After all, whatever the case, Grove was a general, while he was just the amateur strategist offering dubious ideas. Were they to follow his lead entirely, it might only lead to disaster in the end. After witnessing Grove's sudden transformation into a cold, calculating demeanor, Brother Dog suddenly had a newfound understanding of this "straightforward" "old fellow." This guy wasn’t exactly the bumbling simpleton he had imagined; he was more of a cunning old fox. Perhaps buried deep within him was indeed a sincere heart, with genuine admiration for Isher, and a heartfelt desire to achieve equality and fraternity on this land. However, when it came to making decisions, he would unhesitatingly opt for reality over ideals. Deception and performance were ingrained in his very nature, becoming an integral part of his authenticity. Brother Dog wasn't sure if he was being overly sentimental, but the genuine coldness of this guy was somewhat terrifying. Seeing Brother Bear stunned, Grove seemed to realize he had spoken too harshly, quickly softening his expression. He clasped Brother Dog's shoulders, earnestly trying to reason with him. "Don’t be naïve, my friend, this is war, and there's never a war without deaths, is there? Besides, I’m just an ordinary person, not equipped with General Isher's ability to venture in and out of enemy lines seven times. Trading a thousand lives for ten thousand is a choice any general would make." "I know..." Brother Dog gave a bitter smile, "Maybe I am being oversensitive... It's just that they keep calling me family, I can’t help but see them as mine. I'd trade my life for theirs if I could, I'd prefer it if I were the one dying tonight." He wasn’t interfering with the command here, nor did he have the authority. He just wanted to express his immature opinion. "Hey, if you think that way, who's to say they don’t feel the same?" Grove sighed heavily, his tone increasingly weighty. "We’re all prepared to die, not just you and I, but the young men of the Fifth Thousand Troop as well. We’re all family... Sacrificing for family, we should have always been ready for that." Those young men were the first to reach their destination, they should have been receiving honors and medals. And now, they're embarking on a fight with no retreat and no reinforcements. For them, it would likely be a long, grueling night... General Grove took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, turning to the entrance of the command tent to face the cooling outside air. The decision weighed heavily on him. Maybe his allied brothers would consider him heartless, yet he wished he could truly be a cold-hearted guy. That might make it easier to bear. With his back turned to the silent Brother Bear, Grove spoke in a raspy voice. As if speaking to himself, or perhaps just to Brother Dog. “Take what's good and call it a day... I didn't want to invoke this saying in such a context, but it's one of your proverbs…” “Do you think I'm right?” Thinking about the casualties in Tiandu, much higher than here, Brother Dog silently nodded. “Perhaps you're right.” ... Miljans County, where the dim night gradually transitioned into a faintly glowing dawn. Though artillery fire had ceased in the earlier half of the night, gunfire continued throughout. Everyone underestimated the Fifth Thousand Troop's resolve, even the Troop themselves. When the Centurions fell, their Leaders took over; when Leaders perished, the Captains commandeered, bringing their guards into the fray. By the last stand of the thousand strong, all their senior officers had perished, leaving only Majorie, a Decurion, still surviving. Lying among the dead, he picked up a shard of glass, cautiously peeking out from behind cover to survey the surroundings. The tank parked in the middle of the road remained vigilant, with no intention from the Verlanders of leaving loose ends, conducting door-to-door searches. It appeared they were determined to eliminate them all, preferring to mistakenly kill than let any slip away. Reflecting on the innocent villagers caught in the fray, Majorie shut his eyes in anguish. At this moment, the machine gunner beside him groaned, grinning as he spoke. "Sir... the day is breaking, when are our reinforcements arriving?" “They’ll be here soon.” Majorie wearily replied, his eyes fixed on the far end of the street. “Sir…” "What is it? Speak up." “There aren’t any reinforcements coming, are there… no need to fool me, I've known from the start.” “…” “Sir… I can’t go back now, if you make it back, would you relay something to my son?” “Tell me, I'll remember.” “Hah... then I’ll say it…” Majorie waited for quite a while, but there was only silence. Turning back, he realized the young man, with a face scorched black, had breathed his last. He was Majorie's last soldier. Now even he was gone… A surge of emotion overcame Majorie, and unable to restrain himself anymore, he embraced the cold body of his fallen comrade, yelling hysterically. “Speak up! I’ll get your message home! Damn it, say it already!!!” The sudden shout startled all the Verlanders clearing the battlefield. Ironically, it bought a mother and daughter, about to be executed, a little more time. “I’ll fight you till my last breath!!!” Majorie grabbed his rifle, miraculously finding strength for one final charge, roaring with defiance. In that moment, he seemed like a true awakened being, or perhaps something within him truly awakened. Unfortunately, even the awakened couldn't withstand the barrage of 10mm machine gun fire. “Rat-a-tat-tat—!” As he heard those whizzing sounds, he felt several hot currents penetrate his body. Surprisingly, the anticipated excruciating pain never came. It was akin to the sleepiness following a hearty meal, as his consciousness dimmed, his body silently slumped to the ground. Meanwhile, in the middle of the road, Carver, seated on the tank, swallowed nervously with a mix of excitement and tension, marking a tally on the turret with a marker. “The 111th…” This was his first battle. Incredibly smooth and successful beyond belief. “That should be the last of them.” The commander behind him sighed in weary relief. The gunner, now relegated to driving duties, glanced back. “How do you know?” The commander didn’t explain further, casually replying. “Just a guess.” ... The battle in Miljans County had raged on throughout the night. The enemy's fierce resistance delayed them too long at a final building. It was a repair depot built by their logistical team. The garage of the depot had been turned into a warehouse by the Borovians, piled high with their looted goods. To minimize damage to local infrastructure, their orders were to refrain from using the main cannon on the depot, relying only on the tank's coaxial machine gun for support. But it hardly mattered whether they used the main gun. These Borovians had tremendous fighting spirit, but little else. Their casualties were under a hundred, whereas they had annihilated over 1000 Borovian soldiers. Gibson felt indifferent about these numbers. Different types of battles yielded different exchange rates, and it was clear this unit hadn’t fought any significant battles, utterly incomparable to the northern forces. Incidentally, compared to the civilian casualties in Miljans County, both numbers paled in comparison. But it hardly mattered, anyway. Teaching the locals a brutal lesson was an order directly from General Gurion. He believed the guerrillas managed to penetrate their heartland largely due to intelligence support from the locals. As Gurion put it, the locals needed a bodily reminder of this bloody lesson. Seeing the conclusion of the battle at last, the adjutant, frustrated all night, finally exhaled deeply. “...Thank the Marshal above, it’s finally over.” Settling onto a stool near the command vehicle, Gibson cracked open a beer and glanced at him with a grin. “In quite a rush, aren’t we?” The adjutant replied with a wry smile. “Aren’t you concerned that they might divert their main forces here?” Gibson chuckled lightly. “They came up with a stroke of genius like ‘Operation Northern Wind,’ the commander must be quite extraordinary… Intelligence says his name is Grove, right? I hope to meet him someday.” Adjutant: “Uh, does that have anything to do with what I just said?” “It’s hugely relevant. Since their commander is no ordinary person, he must have considered why we’d send an elite armored unit on such a bold advance…” Gibson took a swig of beer, continuing in a nonchalant tone. “The choice is clear, better to take what’s good and call it a day than gamble on that 1% chance.” To be honest, those young men who fought him throughout the night were indeed heroes. He initially believed the local forces, lacking combat experience, and with Sharukh being a timid bluffer, would crumble against his light armor units within an hour or two. Yet, they held their ground until the very last man, with not a single one surrendering. Even the softest among them turned into hardened fighters; this bone was becoming increasingly tough to gnaw… Gibson cracked open another beer, though this time he poured it onto the ground instead of drinking it. "Try for a better life next time, don't end up here again." And don't be a Verlander. He silently recited the latter half to himself, smiling as he tossed the empty bottle aside. Just then, a soldier jogged over, saluted, and reported. "Sir! Our patrol unit discovered a village nearby with some of our missing weapons. The local villagers claim it was left behind by retreating forces." "Seems you were right after all." The adjutant, finally able to wipe away the last traces of sweat from his palms, turned excitedly to Gibson. There had been no reinforcements! Even if their main force was on the way, they wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. Had they gambled incorrectly, even a successful breakaway would have meant retreating in disgrace. Gibson appeared unfazed, casting a sideways glance at the reporting soldier. "Why are you questioning where the supplies came from?" The soldier paused, not understanding what his commander meant. Gibson casually took a swig from his bottle, an air of indifference surrounding him. "What do you think you are, some kind of rural welfare worker? Listen, rookie, the reason those rats stashed their stolen goods in your newly discovered rat hole is probably because it’s inhabited by their kin, and they plan to retrieve their stash on their next visit." "Now, let me tell you what you should do. First, forget all the nonsense you learned in boot camp and recruitment ads. Then take a tank out there and settle their reward." "Let the other rats understand the consequences of colluding with guerrillas. Felling regret? Remember to apologize sooner next time." Facing those fierce eyes, the solider swallowed, hastily saluting. “Yes, sir!” Meanwhile, over by the tank, Carver was enthusiastically sharing his “111 kills” achievement with the logistics officer tallying up the casualties. Hearing that this rookie had supposedly killed over a hundred, the logistics officer cast a skeptical glance at the slightly more seasoned tank commander. The latter just nodded, too nonchalant to be bothered. “Nothing odd about that. We led the vanguard, and the enemy hadn’t even had time to dig trenches. The first couple of rounds took out quite a few just with artillery.” "Alright, let's hope the number of kills we report doesn't end up equating to a full ten-thousand-man brigade." The logistics officer ultimately decided not to pursue it, recording the numbers as stated, then moved on to the next tank. Even if they exaggerated the numbers a bit, it was no big deal; everyone was doing it. The gunner watched the logistics officer walk away, tongue clicking in envy. "Damn it… Carver, get back to your driver’s seat. Next time I’m taking over that gun." Carver grinned and shrugged. “Sure, though I suddenly feel I’ve got a knack for it.” The gunner laughed and swore. “You’re full of it. Wait till I show you what a pro looks like next time!” Carver chuckled but didn’t bother arguing. He was in good spirits. Finally finding his stride, he no longer needed to feel guilty about troubling innocent civilians in Evernight Port, especially his own compatriots. The battlefield was his true calling after all. Just then, a soldier jogged over, saluting the tank commander. Setting down his canteen, the commander raised his eyebrows. "Mission incoming?" The soldier nodded briskly. "There’s a village six kilometers north where a large cache of our lost supplies was found." With a serious nod, the commander acknowledged. "Got it." He patted the tank hull, shouting to the young men munching on biscuits. "To the vehicle!" To be continued...